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Date 2 guys 4 hours - My boyfriend at the time was nice and treated me amazing and he was so gentle with me and that stopped after this happened. I left to go over to his house which was a regular thing i was doing as we were dating at that time. His dad was home and so was he. And when i got in we went to the lounge and put on a movie. He paused the movie then he told me to take off my shirt. I told him it was a stupid idea since his dad was home and there is no way I would do it as I didnt want to and didnt feel comfortable. He hit me. He hadnt hit me before he was always gentle. But i got up and walked very quickly to the door to get out but it was locked. I went to the lounge to tell him to unlock it, then his dad walked in. He asked what was going on I said I wanted to leave. Then he got up from the sofa and grabbed my chest and said "your not leaving" i froze i didnt know what to do. He then said we were going up to his room. I couldn't refuse. I froze. I was scared i didnt know what to do. We went upstairs. He was holding my wrist as we went up the stairs it was bruised so badly. We went into his bedroom and he hit me again and again and was just screaming at me. His dad came in and locked the door. He stopped screaming and said take your shirt off or I will fucking hit you again. His dad was behind me and ripped my shirt off. He stopped screaming at me moved closer to me and put his hands around my throat strangling me and shoved me onto the bed. I had passed out because I had hit my head on the bed frame or wall in not too sure. I woke up to his dad ontop of me while I had my legs and wrists tied to the bed frame so I couldn't move. He said this is how it is done and then something in a different language. Then I felt a push. He was rapeing me. I didnt know what to do. I was frozen it hurt so much. They took turns rapeing me. Touching my chest fingering me and I remember them recording it all because they had a stand with a phone and i wasnt sure what it was at first. It hurt so much it is all blurry since I was crying from pain and how scared I was. I remember he was ontop of me while squeezing my chest and moaning while his dad was holding my legs down since I was trying to get out then after he finished they turned me over. I was too weak to fight and then they were reaching under me and grabbing my tits while rapeing me and taking turns. They stopped because they were both clearly exhausted. So they started to touch me instead. One was touching me while the other fingering me. I was in so much pain. I remember passing out alot but i remember every single part. It lasted for 4 hours. They then started to beat me and said if I told anyone they would show everyone the video, show my friends my teachers and people I knew. I remember after one of my lessons I had a huge panic attack and fell into my teachers classroom and started to break down infront of her. I told her everything. And showedher the threats he had been sending me and she saw the video. She helped me calm down then told me she had to tell safeguarding and the police . She helped me calm down and continously checked on me every day. Then she told me she was moving country . The Last thing she told me was I have to tell someone when I was struggling. My school safeguarding team didnt believe me and looked at me like I was crazy they had seen the video he had told them it was AI . Not one of them believed me because he was the 'nice kid who never got into trouble'. Every day at school i would see him he is in 2 of my classes. He got no punishment. He would wait at the end of lesson and pack up slowly or depending on how quickly i was packing up to walk behind me when we were leaving. He knew what he was doing. Once i was lining up outside my classroom and i felt someone grab my behind the corridors it was him. My school did nothing about it. The safeguarding team are ALL WOMEN . Not one of them believed me. When I had told them I was struggling with food. They checked on me once and said "have you eaten". They checked on me once. I showed them I struggled with self harm. Nothing. They didnt care. Later on that week I attempted. It didnt work. It was my last cry for help and the school did nothing. To this day he has had no punishment and I am still struggling. I just needed help and justice and he is still in my classes and still touching and assaulting me.

Four Years Later: My Story Didn't End in That Courtroom Four years ago, I walked out of a courtroom after one of the hardest chapters of my life. I didn't know exactly what healing would look like or how long it would take. I just knew that I wanted to move forward. Four years ago, I stood in a courtroom and shared some of the hardest parts of my life because I had to. Today, I'm choosing to share my story because I want to. I want someone who is struggling to know that they aren't alone, that what happened to them doesn't define their worth, and that there is still so much life waiting for them beyond what they've experienced. I'm not sharing this because everything is okay now or because I've completely healed. I'm sharing it because I've learned that moving forward is possible, even when the effects of what happened are still part of your everyday life. Several years ago, someone I trusted betrayed me in a way that changed my life. He was my cheer coach, someone who was supposed to be a mentor, someone I looked up to, and someone I believed I could trust. Instead, he took advantage of that trust. He was eventually convicted of crimes involving the exploitation of a minor, unlawful photographing of a minor, and attempted child sexual abuse material. I was a victim in that case. I remember how quickly everything changed. One day, I was a young girl going about my normal life, and the next, I was trying to understand something that no child should ever have to experience. The hardest part wasn't just what happened. It was realizing that someone I had trusted had never been the person I believed him to be. I questioned myself. I struggled with trusting people. I felt angry, embarrassed, confused, and overwhelmed. Things that had once felt normal suddenly became difficult. Even places and activities I loved could bring back painful memories. It also changed the way I saw myself. Being a teenage girl is already hard enough when it comes to confidence and body image. You're growing up, figuring out who you are, and learning to feel comfortable with yourself. After everything happened, I became incredibly self-conscious. I struggled with how I viewed my body and with insecurities that were already difficult enough to navigate at that age. What happened added another layer to those feelings, and it took a toll on my confidence and the way I felt about myself. One thing I wish I had understood sooner is that I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was a child who trusted an adult who was supposed to look out for me. The responsibility for what happened was never mine to carry. It took time for me to begin separating the way someone else treated me from the way I viewed myself. I wish I could go back and remind that younger girl that she was never the problem. Then came the court process. I had to face what happened, speak about things I wished I could forget, and watch someone who had caused so much pain show little to no remorse. I never received the apology I deserved. For a long time, I thought getting through court would mean finally getting closure. I thought that once it was over, I could put everything behind me, but I've learned that healing doesn't work that way. A court case can end, but that doesn't mean the emotional effects disappear with it. For the first year or two after court, I had nightmares almost every night. Sometimes they were about what happened, and sometimes they were about what could have happened if he hadn't been caught when he did. Even though the legal process was over and I knew he had been held accountable, my mind didn't seem to understand that I could finally begin moving forward. Sleep became something I struggled with, and even now, four years later, there are nights when I still have trouble sleeping. I was prescribed medication for PTSD, depression, and anxiety as I worked through everything. As of this past June, I'm no longer taking any of those medications, which has been a meaningful milestone in my personal journey. However, I also know that medication was part of the help I needed at the time, and I’ve had to learn that there's no shame in that. Being off medication doesn't mean everything has suddenly disappeared. I still struggle with trusting people. What happened made me question people's intentions, even when they've given me no reason to doubt them. That has affected my relationships. There are times when I find myself hesitant to trust people, not because of something they’ve done, but because of what someone else did years ago. It's frustrating sometimes, knowing that someone who is no longer part of my life can still influence the way I respond to people who genuinely care about me. I still struggle with my body image and confidence. I still have moments when I feel uncomfortable with myself, even though I know I have nothing to be ashamed of. I also find myself constantly aware of my surroundings. Sometimes, I feel like I'm always on alert, questioning situations or people around me. It's as if a part of my mind is still trying to protect me from something that happened years ago. These are things that don't necessarily go away just because a court case ends or because enough time has passed. While all of these things have gotten better, they still haven't completely disappeared. I think that's one of the biggest misconceptions about healing. People sometimes assume that once enough time has passed, you should be okay, but trauma doesn't follow a timeline, and neither does recovery. Something I've learned over these four years is that healing isn't linear. There are times when I feel like I've made so much progress, and then something happens that brings back feelings I thought I had worked through. I used to get frustrated with myself when that happened. I would wonder why I was still struggling, why I couldn't just move on, or why something from years ago could still affect me so deeply. I still struggle with this sometimes, but I'm learning that having a difficult day doesn't mean I'm back where I started. It doesn't undo the work I've done or the progress I've made. For a long time, I was incredibly hard on myself. I felt like I needed to be strong all the time. I didn't want people to see me struggling, and I didn't want to show what I thought was weakness. I was embarrassed by what had happened, even though I had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. So I pushed my feelings down. I pretended I was okay when I wasn't. I convinced myself that I should be able to move on and that I shouldn't still be struggling with something that was already over. Looking back, I wish I hadn't put so much pressure on myself. I wish I had understood that being strong didn't mean hiding how I felt. I wish I had opened up more, allowed myself to cry when I needed to, and stopped feeling like I had to have everything together. I spent so much time trying to convince myself I was okay that I didn't always give myself the chance to actually work through what I was feeling. That's something I wish I could tell my younger self. Let yourself feel. Be angry if you're angry. Be sad if you're sad. Cry if you need to. Talk to someone when things feel overwhelming. You don't have to pretend you're okay just to make yourself or everyone around you more comfortable. You don't have to prove your strength by suffering in silence. Most importantly, stop being so hard on yourself for struggling with something you never should have had to experience in the first place. Another important part of my healing journey has been my relationship with God. Throughout everything I've experienced, I've learned to turn to Him for strength, comfort, and guidance. My relationship with God has grown tremendously over these past four years, and I truly believe He has helped me get to where I am today. I've always believed in the saying, "God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers." I believe that God wouldn't give me anything I couldn't handle, even during the moments when I questioned how I would ever make it through. There have been times when I've felt overwhelmed, when I've questioned why things happened the way they did, and when I didn't understand what my future would look like. Through those moments though, I've found comfort in knowing that I can turn to God. My faith hasn't taken away every difficult day, every painful memory, or every struggle I still face, but it has given me hope when I needed it most. It's reminded me that I don't have to have everything figured out and that I don't have to carry everything on my own. I don't believe that what happened to me was something I deserved or something I needed to experience to become a better person, but I do believe that God has helped me find growth, purpose, and strength in the years that followed, and while I know I still have healing to do, I trust that He will continue guiding me through it. My faith doesn't mean that I never struggle. It means that even when I do, I have somewhere to turn. When I look back at the girl I was four years ago, I wish I could tell her how far she would come. I wish I could tell her that she would find reasons to laugh again, that she would continue making memories, and that the things she experienced would not have to define the rest of her life. Because today, that's what I'm most proud of. I'm proud that I kept going. I'm proud of the person I've become. I'm proud that I've learned to appreciate life in ways I might not have before, and I'm proud that despite everything, I haven't allowed what happened to control my entire life. I don't want to pretend that what I experienced made me stronger every single day. There have been days when I've felt anything but strong. There have been moments of frustration, sadness, and setbacks. However, strength isn't always about feeling fearless or having everything figured out. This is a lesson I’m still trying to teach myself. Sometimes, strength is allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Sometimes, it's asking for help, and sometimes, it's simply recognizing how far you've come, even when you still have a long way to go. One thing I've come to understand is that moving forward doesn't mean forgetting what happened. It means learning that your life can hold so much more than what happened to you. To anyone who has experienced a similar situation, I want you to know that your feelings are valid. Healing isn't a competition, and there is no deadline for when you're supposed to be okay. You don't have to forgive and forget what happened right away. You don't have to pretend it doesn't affect you, and you don't have to share your story before you're ready. You are allowed to have good days and bad days. You're allowed to be proud of your progress while still acknowledging the things you're struggling with. Your experience is part of your story, but it is not the entirety of who you are. When I look back at the statement I wrote for court four years ago, I see a young girl who was hurting, confused, and trying to make sense of something she never should have experienced, but I also see a girl who, despite everything, still had hope for her future. In that statement, I wrote: "I don't believe in somebody being better than somebody else, but I do believe that people's actions define them as a person." Those words still mean something to me today. For so long, I struggled with the decisions someone else made and the ways those decisions affected my life, but I've learned that his actions were a reflection of his choices, not of my worth. I cannot change what happened or the decisions he made, but I can continue choosing how I want to live my own life, how I treat others, and what kind of person I want to become. Near the end of that same statement, I also wrote: "I hope to stay resilient to the pain you've caused me, and I hope to work each day to be a better and stronger person than you ever have been." Reading those words four years later brings up a lot of emotions. At the time, I wanted so badly to be strong. I wanted to prove that what happened wasn't going to destroy me. I wanted to believe that one day, I would become someone I could be proud of. While I still believe in the importance of resilience, my understanding of strength has changed. Back then, I thought being strong meant holding everything together. I thought it meant pushing through the pain, hiding my emotions, and refusing to let anyone see me struggle. Today, I know that strength can look completely different. Sometimes, it's allowing yourself to feel the emotions you've spent so long trying to avoid. Sometimes, it's admitting that you're having a hard day. Sometimes, it's giving yourself permission to heal at your own pace instead of constantly expecting yourself to be further along, and sometimes, it's simply being proud of yourself for how far you've already come. I've also realized that healing isn't about becoming the person you were before something happened. It's about giving yourself the time, patience, and grace to keep growing into the person you're becoming. If I could go back and tell the girl I was then anything, I wouldn't tell her to be stronger. I wouldn't tell her to move on faster or to stop letting things bother her. I'd tell her to be kinder to herself. I'd tell her that she doesn't have to earn the right to be proud of herself by being completely healed, and I'd tell her that one day, she'll look back and realize just how much life she's lived beyond the things she thought would always hold her back. Four years later, I'm still not exactly where I want to be. There are things I'm still learning to work through, feelings I'm still trying to understand, and parts of myself I'm still learning to give grace to, but I'm not where I was four years ago, either. I've grown in ways I couldn't have imagined back then. I've learned to appreciate the good things in life, to recognize my own progress, and to understand that having difficult days doesn't mean I've failed. I know I still have a long way to go, and I'm okay with that. I don't have to have everything figured out right now. I don't have to be completely healed to be proud of myself. He took away things I can never get back, but I didn't let him take everything from me. Four years ago, I was hoping that one day I would become someone I could be proud of. Today, I can say that I already am. While I'm still not where I want to be, I have hope that I'll keep growing, keep healing, and keep building a life that I'm proud to call mine. My story didn't end in that courtroom four years ago. I have a feeling, the best parts of it may still be ahead of me. 2 Corinthians 12:9 (KJV) — “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Isaiah 41:10 (KJV) — “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

Just words. You have trouble talking about these things. You realize you have trouble talking about a lot of things. You remember being excited about your first job at Company Name. One of your friends works there and you know a lot of people work there as a summer job. It’s the 1990’s and it’s been grandfathered in that they can pay you less than minimum wage because it’s like a part time training experience for students getting their first work experience. Like a newspaper route. Those are for boys. You got so excited after being nervous you asked for an application along with your friend. You don’t remember meeting him then. So many people want to get chosen for that crap job because for some reason it’s become a sought after thing among the cool kids. You do remember the phone call that you can come for an interview. Walking home you wonder if being cute and having larger breasts than most almost freshman girls had something to do with it. You met Name and remember him for sure this time. The way you look has been a curse far more than a blessing. One reason people would not feel that bad for you. 'God sure blessed you, honey." You have so many bad memories, blocked memories, repressed memories because of Name. You are having second thoughts as tears build up. You need a drink. You quit drinking years ago and today you have three months and eight days sober. Your record is nine months and two days. You are strong. Most of the time. You are hollow. All the time. Name wasn’t the last but he was the first. You change his name although you don’t want to. He is the symbol of your hatred of all that is wrong with men. You were tricked. Name got what he wanted from you. Too many times. Too many times before you stopped going back. Just stopped. You could have just stopped after the first time he held you close and caressed you before your mom picked you up that night. The first time. You still don’t understand or forgive yourself for that. You had let a boy at a party and a boy at an 8th grade dance put their hand up your shirt. You had liked it so much those times. It had been exciting and happy. Name did not make you happy. You went back. You want to talk about something else now. Not the other men who thought your body was their plaything. Not the time you went to Ireland with your Aunts and mom. You miss mom. That was a good trip. You got back to that a lot. You sat down to talk about things you don’t talk about. On a family trip to Adventureland you asked your cousin if was considered losing your virginity of a boy did it to your boobs. You pretended it was a cute boy, not Name. It was hard to breathe with him sitting on your torso thrusting. You sometimes break things and scream. Never when your son is around. You have two jobs and don’t really like the one that pays the most. Your college degree does not count much. How much life is wasted on despair and doubt and taking the wrong path? You feel relief when he finally finished. You hate when he finishes because you know he is stealing his ultimate pleasure from you when he has a wife. He acts like it was just another day at work to keep you on his leash. You are pathetic. His remnants are inside you every time you go home after closing with him. Just another miserable day in the life. You say nothing. You tell no one. You are worthless except as a vessel for him. Your parents say nice things to you, about you. They always have. They have to. They don’t know what you really are. A black shame is the times you felt pleasure in your body while he was doing it do you. At least while you remained quiet and motionless there was some dignity. Defiance. Insult to him. When your body and voice reacted like you liked it it was a betrayal. Like you liked that tub of disgusting man on top of you and inside of you, fucking you on that tile floor, kissing you like a lover. You befriended a group of guys by mid high school. Over a year after Name was more than thorn in your soul. A deep callous. The group figured out what you were. They played football. They were important and had strong will. They shared you and passed you around. They told you they loved you. That you were the coolest girl. They took what they wanted when they wanted. Why? Name 2 was you lab partner for biology. He was the first. He was the only one your age. You went in his car for lunch and met some others. They wanted you. You volunteered. It is all you are good for. Draining them of their juice so they can be happy and feel like men. So you can feel empty and dirty. Even after they graduated they got together for group fun, or had you sneak out at night to go for a ride. You headed far west after you graduated. A fresh start. An exodus. An escape. You went to one reunion. The ten year reunion. Name 2 came with his wife. He introduced you as his ex-girlfriend. You let hm take you to the disabled restroom and have his quickie. You went to the bars afterward and ditched your real friend and let Name 3 take you back to his hotel room to live his fantasies just because he claimed that he always loved you. They say attractive people have sex more frequently with more partners than normal people. The darkness behind that statement is that for females it is no always because they want it that way but because of the relentless pressure from men and how they will do anything if they get the opportunity. You are not a nice innocent girl. Would you have been if it had not been for Name like you want to think? Would you have let your much older cousin you barely know take you back into the woods with him behind their house to the shack where he smokes pot after a wedding. Then wait there for him to call his friends after he found out you were a bad girl and wait for them too. Swatting flies in your underwear while you waited for them. You did not drink because your mom did not allow it even though kids younger than you were. But your cousin and his local friends did. Four of them counting your cousin old enough to be your uncle. Still, you acted like you liked everything they did. They took it so far like you were the world's greatest toy. Porn star, they called you like it was the best thing you could be. The anal was excruciating. It was easier to just wash off all your makeup than to try to fix it after all the sweat and sticky. Smiles and complements followed by the deep hollow feeling of total isolation in the station wagon on the way back home from Kansas city. Hating Name and feeling like you betrayed your aunt because one of them was her fiancé. You got an infection and it was embarrassing when the doctor told you. At least it was a female doctor. The idea of a male gynecologist is unnerving. The one time you were examined by one was terrifying. You were in college. He was way too thorough and talkative like he was working up to asking you out on a date and you decided never again. The only one you ever had that did not wear gloves for the breast exam. The most sensual digital vaginal exam you ever had to check the cervix and ovaries for pain. Was his thumb supposed to be brushing your clitoris? You even wonder if he was recording it on his phone that you saw him adjust twice as it was peaking out of the breast pocket of his lab coat. His stupid November mustache he asked you if you liked. So some days you don’t eat. You exercise to maintain the body they want. It gives you value to them. You are nothing. People always say nice things. Hollow things. What if you had never met Name? What if you never got fucked on the floor for $3.45 an hour. On your back, on your hands and knees, sometimes even on top of him. Your first orgasm on that floor that smelled like stale milk and bleach. Having to tell your mom pick you up 45 minutes after the place closes for your cleaning duties. You used tampons just to keep from his semen leaking out on the way home. You pretended to be a virgin when you were far from it. He told you not to worry because he had a vasectomy. That part must have been true. You don't got on dates even though they always try to set you up. Not a chance. Your son is a good excuse. And a real reason. Real love. The Earth spins in space. Why can’t it just freeze and die like me? Your boss doesn’t go all the way with you because he won’t cheat on his wife. You give him oral because he doesn’t think that counts. Preserves his purity. He says he wants to so badly, like he can take whatever he wants from you but he is strong and valiant. You are nothing. He is handsome. You let him kiss you and fondle you. You long for his touch. He is not a great man but you long for him. The closest thing to a good man you have known. A father figure. Your son needs a father figure. He is everything. He deserves better. He loves you. He tells you are a good mom and that is worth enduring the world for as long as it takes. You put on a good face but he knows you are hollow, deep down. A wounded duck pretending to be a swan. Always pretending. Was there no pretending before Name? Maybe not. The days begin and your mind pretends and it is hard and the days end. Bad dreams on both ends. Will he be a good man? The funny thing is you want him to be a prince because he is your prince but even if he is like most men you want his total happiness. You want beautiful girls, good times, and strong friends for him. You exist to fake it and to have let those men enjoy you but mostly to give your son the best life possible beyond you. You are not worthless. It is not your fault. You are stronger than you know. Hollow words. They have to say it. They always have. No creativity. No insight. No truth. Just words.

I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.